<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>sang-e sabour by slotumn</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25799488">sang-e sabour</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/slotumn/pseuds/slotumn'>slotumn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>patience stone [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Agartha (Fire Emblem), Almyra (Fire Emblem), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma, Crests (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Dark Claude von Riegan, Existential Angst, F/F, F/M, Family Angst, Family Issues, Fantastic Racism, Fratricide, Genocide, Hurt Claude von Riegan, Implied/Referenced Incest, Lysithea von Ordelia Needs a Hug, My Unit | Byleth Is Doing Their Best, Nabatea (Fire Emblem), Other, Politics, Possession, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rating May Change, War Crimes, Whump, Worldbuilding, and, getting possessed by the dragon your ancestor killed and turned into a weapon, its a fire emblem fic what did you expect, leading to, mentally and physically, she really is, then flying off to a remote island to find a cure for your dying gf, while she also gets possessed by ancient dragon souls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:09:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,767</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25799488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/slotumn/pseuds/slotumn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <i>(He was a fool, lost in his idealized fantasies of their happy future together.)</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>"Look, Claude—"</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>(Always priding himself on considering every option, every potential outcome before making his move, but saying,)</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>"Lysithea, will you marry me?"</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>(and never having considered the possibility that she'd reply with,)</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>"I'm sorry."</i>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>It has been a year since Lysithea rejected Claude's proposal, relinquished her title, and quietly cut off contact from all of her friends to prepare for death. Claude, unwilling to let her die, abdicates the throne and searches for a cure.</p><p>Meanwhile, the new United Kingdom of Fódlan must deal with the legacies of Agarthans, Nabateans, and those who were tragically caught in-between— but could those remnants also be the key to Claude and Lysithea's happily ever after?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lysithea von Ordelia/Claude von Riegan, Minor or Background Relationship(s), My Unit | Byleth/Sothis, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>patience stone [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2254880</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. prologue: "once upon a time..."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As of April 10th, 2021, I'm reworking this story. Not that there was much to rework, since I only uploaded the prologue and first chapter, but yeah, looks like it's going get a lot longer than I originally planned! Buckle up, I guess.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>When intruders come to the canyon, you do not think of fighting back. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You know a lost game when you see one, and even as a corpse, a grotesque war trophy, Mother is more powerful than all of Zanado combined. Some things are unavoidable, She has always said— some things are fate.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The moment they turn towards you, you realize what She meant for the second time in your life.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You do not think of evacuating the populace; you should have, when you are one of the figures they have chosen to lead them in Mother's absence, to protect them, whether that be from others or themselves.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But deep down, you have always known accepting this position was a mistake. You have already failed once, and in retrospect, you should have learned of your limits— this world's limits— the first time around. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It is a violent era, a tragic era. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You and the others here have run out of luck. That is all there is to it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yet if there is one thing you regret, one thing that will haunt you in death,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"...ais."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>it is that you could not keep that promise. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. chapter 1: to you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"...King Khalid the First of Almyra, better known as Khalid the Unifier, executed his siblings exactly three years into his reign, and abdicated the throne shortly afterwards."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is really heavy on Almyran politics/royal family drama, and I still haven't gotten everything covered. Rest assured, more will be explained when Claude has a mental breakdown at some point or another. </p><p>The Almyran calendar shown with the Fódlan calendar is based off of the Zoroastrian calendar, which also starts the year on spring except about a week faster compared to the Fódlan one. (I may have to make a separate reading note/worldbuilding document for this thing lol)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Early Month of Fire, 1510 Almyran Year (Late Red Wolf Moon, 3 Unification Year &amp; 1189 Imperial Year)</em>
</p><p>"Rahim. Mozhdeh. Former children of Korush the Third, former supreme commanders of Man Eaters and Dread Horns, former prince and princess of Almyra."</p><p>The voice rang out through the square— clear, smooth, and steady, perfectly formal in tone and betraying no particular emotion on part of the speaker. </p><p>If not for the content of what it was announcing, many in the crowd would have found it pleasant to listen to, while others enjoyed the sound precisely because of the contents. </p><p>"For the grave crimes of treachery against your people, your country, and your king, you shall pay with your lives."</p><p>A pause.</p><p>The speaker— none other than king of Almyra himself— surveyed the crowd, then the man and woman kneeling in front of him. His expression was as steady as his voice, as if he had done this many times before. </p><p>In a way, he had. </p><p>"Any final words?"</p><p>This was the part where the audience all began concentrating. Last words spoken before death, before execution— they were powerful things, things that engraved themselves in memories and histories. Some used it to declare innocence, others defiance. </p><p>The woman opened her mouth first. </p><p>"The only traitor here is <em>you</em>, dirty half-breed spawn of a Fódlan whore!" she spat. "You never deserved the crown, and you never will! You are nothing but a cowardly stain in Almyra's proud history!"</p><p>Her scornful and resentful gaze didn't stray from her executioner, not even for a second, as if she wished keep his image in mind to continue her hatred in death.</p><p>"One day, your filthy mongrel blood will spill here, too— mark my words!"</p><p>The king let the echoes of her final declaration subside, and then some, before raising his axe and—</p><p>
  <em>CRACK. </em>
</p><p>The headless body's limbs were still twitching when the king turned to the other man, who did not need to have the question repeated to give his answer, with a smile plastered only on his lips:</p><p>"Enjoy your dream while it lasts, dear brother of mine."</p><p>He spoke as smoothly as the king did, who waited just a little less before swinging the axe down— perhaps because this one did not echo as loudly.</p><p>
  <em>CRACK. </em>
</p><p>The first swing landed not on the neck but the skull, cracking it partway open like a watermelon, throwing splatters of blood and bits of brain onto the ground and the king's robes. It didn't take long for him to correct the mistake, however, pulling the axe out of the back of the head with a small wriggle, giving a small tap on the neck, then raising and dropping the blade with another sickening,</p><p>
  <em>CRACK.</em>
</p><p>The king did not move for several minutes once the mangled head fell to the ground. His face still betrayed no emotion, aside from the slightest twitch on the corner of his mouth that could have been the precursor to a frown or a smile. </p><p>In later history, interpretations of this moment would come to vary greatly; some claimed he felt regret and grief, while others said it was glee, and not a small amount of scholars suggested it was simply another calculated political display he was famous for.</p><p>Regardless, all records from the time confirm the following fact: </p><p>King Khalid the First of Almyra, better known as Khalid the Unifier, executed his siblings exactly three years into his reign, and abdicated the throne shortly afterwards.</p>
<hr/><hr/><p>
  <em>Early Month of the Creator, 1510 Almyran Year (Late Ethereal Moon, 3 Unification Year &amp; 1189 Imperial Year)</em>
</p><p>Officially, the feast was held to commemorate the founding of the new Azhdar dynasty.</p><p>Which was different from the founding of Almyra— that was celebrated a few months later, and was the biggest national holiday for the general populace, as it was combined with the beginning of spring, and therefore, the year. </p><p>But to Claude and everyone else in the royal court, this day was far more important, politically and practically speaking.</p><p>After all, the establishment of (old) Almyra by Fereydun the Great was a millennium and a half ago, from an era where mythology and history were difficult to distinguish; the reunification of Almyra, by Rostam the Conqueror, was far more recent memory people of their era still felt the consequences of. </p><p>"To the Immortals of Azhdar, leading and protecting from the skies!"</p><p>Specifically, he felt the consequences— of the alliances and rivalries made three centuries ago, of the overt emphasis on military valor that had already become outdated by all practical means.</p><p>"To Azhdar!"</p><p>It would be a great error to say Claude had a problem with what his great-great-insert-a-few-more-greats-grandfather did in of itself, though. All accounts told that the five hundred years of disunity between the old and new Azhdar dynasties were chaotic and bloody, marked by constant conflict and cycles of revenge between every group imaginable— times even crueler than the one he was born into, and sometimes, it took bringing everyone under one rule to quell such chaos. If anything, he was now increasingly grateful that his predecessors got the most difficult part out of the way.</p><p>His contemporaries— his <em>siblings</em>— were a different story, however.</p><p>"To Prism Wings of Zimourv, raining magic to curse our enemies ever after!"</p><p>Of the Five Great Clans who rose to power during the unification, and always married at least one member from their family to the monarch, Zimourv was the best at feigning modesty. They never directly challenged the Azhdar line's authority, and did all they could to win the king or queen's favor. </p><p>To put it another way, they preferred to wield power behind the scenes, to influence without prominence, to decide without taking responsibility. Eldest sister Shohreh was a Zimourv to her heart, and perhaps she would have tried to make Claude her puppet, had he not been a filthy half-breed, or had she not found a better one in her full-blooded (both in being Almyran and in sharing a same mother) younger brother, Shahin. </p><p>"To Zimourv!"</p><p>Good puppets were stupid men, and Shahin fell apart as soon as his strings were cut. </p><p>Shohreh and Shahin died under mysterious circumstances three months into his rule, miles away from one another, their attempt at a coup foiled before it could begin.</p><p>"To Tide Beasts of Bahmut, braving the fearsome waves! To Fire Snakes of Samaran, healing the wounded amidst blades and arrows!"</p><p>Safa and Rushan had mothers from Bahmut and Samaran, respectively; Claude always knew they wouldn't bother with politics, for they never got involved when other children humiliated him, refusing to join them nor stop them. No matter how hard he begged, they ignored his cries for help, preferring their warship blueprints and chemistry equations to a walking, breathing inconvenience.</p><p>As they grew up, they also began preferring each other to any of the suitors vying for their hands.</p><p>"To Bahmut, to Samaran!"</p><p>Right now, they sat at the feast as the pretty figureheads of their mothers' clans, knowing he could reveal the nature of their relationship to the world, if he so wished.</p><p>(He didn't plan to, but they sure were eager to listen to him, now that <em>they</em> were the ones under threat.)</p><p>"To the Man Eaters of Mardikh, piercing the frontlines! To the Dread Horns of Kargdan, taming beasts of the plains!"</p><p>But if he were to pick the biggest problems, it would have to be Mardikh, the second largest clan next to Azhdar, who thought they had a shot at becoming more powerful than the king with the strong army and large territory they held, as well as Kargdan, who thought playing the faithful sidekick to Mardikh was the best way to secure their position. They were the main reasons behind the pointless border conflicts to the west and the excessive attempts at expansion into the east, as out of the five clans, they were the most reliant on military valor to stay in power, and thus, always needed enemies to defeat.</p><p>Or at least, they <em>used</em> to be problems.</p><p>"To Mardikh, to Kargdan!"</p><p>Their remaining resistance to focusing more on internal maintenance rather than outward expansion suddenly melted away after last month, when the prince and princess of their blood had those royal heads lopped of in front of a crowd after attempting— and most humiliatingly for them, utterly failing— to overthrow him. </p><p>A shame, really, Claude thought, surveying the hall and raising his goblet. As a rule, he preferred to be not so blatant; subtlety and plausible deniability were his modus operandi, and if things had gone according to plan, it would have stayed that way— meaning dear brother Rahim and dear sister Mozhdeh could at least have been assassinated in the comfort of their bedrooms, like most others he had to get rid of for one reason or another.</p><p>If only things had gone according to plan.</p><p>Ignoring the lump in his throat, Claude smiled and shouted the final line of the toast, </p><p>"To Almyra! We have prospered for a thousand years— may we prosper for a thousand more!"</p><p>"To Almyra!"</p><p>"To Almyra!"</p><p>"May we proper!"</p><p>and his subjects went wild, cheering loud enough to almost drown his foolish, useless regrets out.</p>
<hr/><p>"My, first a grand execution on the anniversary of your coronation, and now a grand announcement on the anniversary of this dynasty," came a soft voice with accented pronunciation. "Quite the impeccable timing, Your Majesty."</p><p>Claude whipped around with a knife ready, more out of habit than anything else, then lowered it.</p><p>"If it isn't Arjumand," he said, tucking the blade back into the sheathe and holding out his hand instead. "Pleased to see you could come conspire with me while everyone else is passed out drunk."</p><p>The young woman stepped out into the training ground's early morning light, steps as soft as her voice. </p><p>"Pleased to conspire with you, too, Your Majesty," she said, shaking his hand then pausing to tilt her head. "I assume this means the earlier announcement about abdicating is serious?"</p><p>Claude chuckled, taking a training bow and arrow. "Oh, come on now. Do I look like the kind of man who'd joke about such things?"</p><p>Arjumand just smiled along, watching him fire a few shots at the target. She took out a smallish ring-shaped blade— a chakri, he believed it was called— and landed it on a nearby dummy, the weapon completely silent as it flew through the air.</p><p>"So, a tournament amongst your relatives to decide the new ruler," she said. "Is that yet another strange tradition of this land?"</p><p>Claude shrugged. "Depends on how you look at it. In a way, it's a tradition of every land, isn't it? Everyone who thinks they have a shot at power vie for it when the opportunity arises."</p><p>"Indeed. Shahab and I are quite lucky in that regard, to not have been caught up in such things back in Sukhava."</p><p>Sukhava— that was name of the mountains on Almyra's northeastern borders. Kargdan, whose territory lay in the east, had always considered it a goal to expand their territory into that area and beyond, despite the utter impossibility of traversing its high peaks. Claude had always planned to end the unsuccessful and resource-draining campaign on the first year of his rule, protests from Kargdan or not, but the love story between Arjumand and his husband— cousin Shahab— had certainly made it easier. </p><p>He raised an eyebrow. "Back in Sukhava? Makes sense for Shahab, but you're a princess, aren't you?"</p><p>"I'm sure you must have noticed, Your Majesty, but my older sister is quite a bit older than I am," Arjumand replied, spinning another chakri around on her finger. "Not only was she set to become chief a long time ago, her children and I are around the same age. Her position and lineage is as secure as can be."</p><p>The chakri flew forward, landing right above the other one, and Arjumand gave a soft giggle before continuing,</p><p>"And thank goodness for that— I never would have met your cousin, had I been busy fighting rivals in the tribe instead of you strange people from the west!"</p><p>"Oh, thank goodness, indeed."</p><p>Shahab and Arjumand had met on the battlefield as enemies, he'd heard, with Shahab leading a squadron of Dread Horns and Arjumand leading the Kalavin tribe's finest warriors. Between the multiple clashes they had over the years, most had ended as stalemates (or at least that was how he interpreted it, since both sides claimed victory), as typical of the Sukhava campaign. Right around the time Claude took the throne, however, Kalavin suddenly ceased hostilities and offered something no Almyran ruler would turn down: their land, their loyalty, and their warriors, in exchange for protection. </p><p>As it turned out, the Kalavins were something of oddballs amongst the tribes of Sukhava; they held a different religion from most others, and therefore, had many enemies. The other tribes had begun to build a coalition, the chief had explained, and with that new threat, they stood a better chance under Almyra than on their own. </p><p>Claude took up on the offer, of course. It was a win-win for everyone involved, as he bolstered his image as a strong king, the Kargdans their pride as conquerors, and the Kalavins their political security. </p><p>Not to mention that he gained useful political mascots for his agenda, when Shahab and Arjumand rose to national prominence during the process.</p><p>"But, yes— lineage and succession are fickle and volatile things," he said. "No matter who I announce as my successor, someone else in the family will try to challenge them."</p><p>And we all saw how that could end a month ago, was the silent addendum.</p><p>"Therefore... it's best to let them get it out of the way beforehand, and then announce," Arjumand said. "You must have much faith in whoever you chose, Your Majesty, to expect them to win against all your other powerful relatives."</p><p>Claude didn't reply yet, as he carefully aimed and pulled his bowstring back.</p><p>"That, or the tournament was going to be held for their victory from the start."</p><p>An arrow whistled through the air, striking bullseye on the target. </p><p>"Now, now, it wouldn't be becoming of a king to be so biased as to preemptively pick a successor then rig the tournament around them," he said, smiling. "But if the fearsome conqueror of the eastern mountains had a clever wife who was willing to do anything to make her husband king... like finding a source of information who would gladly give advice on getting through the tournament and beyond... then I can't do anything about <em>that</em>, can I?"</p><p>Again, Arjumand laughed, this time ever so slightly louder. </p><p>"You people of the west speak so strangely," she said, now picking up an Almyran-style bow of her own. "Calling a reasonable and kindhearted diplomat a fearsome conqueror, and the desperation for survival 'cleverness.'"</p><p>She did not fire any arrows and simply plucked the strings a few times, as though it was an instrument. Claude stayed silent for the next few moments as well, observing the sky flare pink on one end.</p><p>Arjumand hummed something under her breath— likely a sutra, fron her homeland.</p><p>"Nonetheless, you are right," she finally said, picking up some arrows. "That clever wife certainly wouldn't turn down the opportunity to become a clever queen, as out of blue it may be! Honestly, who would?"</p><p>Instead of wincing, Claude just laughed along, throwing a glance at the direction opposite of the sunrise, where the sky was still dark.</p><p>"Who would, indeed."</p>
<hr/><hr/><p><em>Early Month of the Good Spirit, </em><br/>
<em><strike>1509?</strike> 1510 Almyran Year (Late Guardian Moon, <strike>2?</strike> </em> <em>3 Unification Year &amp; <strike>1188?</strike> 1189 Imperial Year)</em></p><p>
  <em>(The sentence he heard was familiar:)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Are you sure it's okay for the king to sneak off in the middle of the banquet like this?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(No, not just the sentence, but the situation as well. Claude had experienced this before— but how could that be, he wondered.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It's fine, everyone's too busy celebrating to notice," he said, holding Lysithea's hand tight as they made their way up the watchtower. "Even if they do, what are they going to do about it? Yell at me while they're drunk off their asses and ruin the mood?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(How could that be, when this was his first and last chance at this.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lysithea sighed behind him. "Taking the throne hasn't changed you one bit, has it."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I'm afraid not. Or maybe I just need more time to fully absorb the royal pretentiousness expected of the position."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Doubtful," she said, right as he stepped into the uppermost floor. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I'll take that as a compliment," he grinned, and turned around to pull her up alongside him. "And, we're here. Look."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Although they'd found a way to hold a summit and a grand feast there, Fódlan's Locket wasn't a pinnacle of luxury, by any means. It was a fortress built for strictly military purposes, and even with the servants working to accommodate its newfound function as a conference hall day and night, many of those who had to stay here for the past several weeks complained of how uncomfortable it was.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But the view.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Oh—"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gods, the view.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The sky lighting up from blue, to lavender, to pink— just like her eyes— as the sun peeked out behind the layers of fog-covered mountains were,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"—it's beautiful," Lysithea whispered, almost too small to be audible.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He should have responded with something romantic, like, "Not as beautiful as you." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Instead, he poked her cheek and said, "Look at you, a big girl, coming to the diplomacy meeting in your parents' stead and staying up all night to see the sun rise!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Claude!" Lysithea snapped her head around, eyebrows only slightly scrunched. "Does it kill you to be quiet for one second?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Yes, it does, actually," he joked, but stood up straighter and steeled his tone to be more serious right afterwards. "But as a matter of fact, I do need to, uh, speak, for this next part."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Again, Claude suddenly felt this situation had happened before.) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Which made no sense.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"And that would be...?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Except— it did—)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Claude reoriented himself to face her, took a step forward, reached out to take her hand, then inelegantly dropped to his knees and fumbled for that little box inside his pocket with his other hand.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(—and that was the moment everything came crashing back.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Well, I've been thinking about it for a while now." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Stop, he commanded to his body and stupid blabbering mouth, now noticing Lysithea stumbling back ever so slightly.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"The subject's going to come up sooner or later in the Almyran court, now that I've stabilized my rule."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(The hitch in her breath that came a little too early.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Don't get me wrong, I'm not doing this soley for political reasons— but all things considered, this may as well be the time to do it, and, dammit, I'm rambling, aren't I."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Claude,"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(The way her voice shook as she tried to stop him from continuing any further, as he now wished he could.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(He noticed.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(How had he not notice before? How?)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Yeah, I know, I know, I'll get to the point now."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Ah, right.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Because he was a fool, lost in his idealized fantasies of their happy future together.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Look, Claude—"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Always priding himself on considering every option, every potential outcome before making his move, but saying,)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Lysithea, will you marry me?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(and never having considered the possibility that she'd reply with,)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I'm sorry."</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>I'm sorry.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm sorry.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm sorry.</em>
</p><p>"..."</p><p>Claude woke up with those words spinning in his head, loud and clear like it was spoken a day ago instead of a year.</p><p>
  <em>I'm sorry.</em>
</p><p>That was the last sentence of hers he'd truly heard, instead of only vaguely registered, as she explained everything, voice distant and way too calm. He couldn't remember what he said in response before she excused herself back to her guest chamber— probably something unhelpful, like "I see—" and he couldn't remember how the rest of that banquet, or day, went, as everyone aside from the designated Goneril troops prepared to leave once the sun rose.</p><p>He did remember that he didn't get to say goodbye to her. </p><p>But really, Claude thought, forcing himself to roll out of bed, that might have been for the best. </p><p>"Hah..."</p><p>Because there was no need to say goodbye if they were going to see each other again, was there?</p><p>There didn't have to be a goodbye between them, he told himself, because after today, he would not be the king she was afraid of holding back. </p><p>The oh-so-great ruler who had "more important things" to care for than the life of the woman he loved the most.</p><p>No goodbyes, he repeated to himself, again and again, as he dressed as the King of Unification for the last time and stepped into the arena. </p><p>"...It's time."</p><p>Above, the sky was beautiful and clear and blue.</p><p>Below, those who revered and feared and respected and demonized him awaited his final scheme.</p><p>"To life," he said, voice ringing across the air, loud and clear. "To the future."</p><p>A pause. </p><p>Claude forced himself to smile, yet again.</p><p>"To a brighter future, to a life without regrets."</p><p>And this time, the cheers drowned everything out, including the words he whispered next:</p><p>"...To the one who deserves those things the most."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"When you commit epic royal fratricide and abdicate the throne bottom text" -Claude von Riegan</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://discord.gg/GZmtGbw">Join the Lysiclaude Discord!</a> (Adults only for ease of moderation, please note.<br/><br/><a href="https://twitter.com/slotumn?s=09">My twitter</a><br/></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>